In Mourning Black, as Bright Burnets
by TheFantabulousPandemonium
Summary: He remembers simple truths, the ones that are so inherently there he could not possibly dispute them. Odin Allfather is the King of Asgard. Thor Odinson is his firstborn. Frigga Njorddottir is the Queen. Asgard is guarded by Heimdall, son of the Nine Mothers. Loki is, and has always been, Loki. Alternate beginning to Thor 2. Character study-ish.


He remembers simple truths, the ones that are so inherently _there_ he could not possibly dispute them.

Odin Allfather is the King of Asgard. Thor Odinson is his firstborn. Frigga Njorddottir is the Queen. Asgard is guarded by Heimdall, son of the Nine Mothers.

Loki is, and has always been, Loki.

He remembers truths, but he knows lies. They're transparently intimate, the feeling of cold, cold hands along his spine that makes him shudder and steal away from the Court where it is a frozen waterfall against his back. Simple, uncomplicated lies slip and slide from greased tongues, curling smoke around their victims until it is finally processed as tarnished truth, while the complex lure like starving serpents closer and closer until they consume all in one gigantic bite.

Another truth; Loki knows the feeling far too well.

He knows Asgard dislikes him, the second son who is not a son and will not stay his form, knows the Gatekeeper will kill him the instant he threatens Asgard. It has been prophesied for millennia and the Dísir are rarely, if ever, wrong.

And Loki knows he will be alone, as he is.

He is a criminal now. The cell is white enough to hurt his eyes if he looks too long. The front is a shimmering gold thin enough Mjöllnir could break, if Thor wanted it to. The cot is too short for him. Frigga brings him books. The lie is that she still calls him her son.

His own is that he lets her.

But he is not Odinson, not anymore. The smoke that has choked him since before he could remember is gone, hanging is wisps in the corners of his prison that creep ever closer at the name Laufeyson. It is only Loki now, called Trickster.

Trickster brings no lies.

Thor visits once, when he is first thrown down to be gawked at. Lies coalesce about him, clinging to his blood-bright cloak and circling his head like a crown of stars, while a thousand silent conversations pass between them in but a moment. Smoke like dust follows his heels out. And Loki is alone. But he does not stay silent.

His memory lies when spoken aloud.

He fell, that much is certain. To where, and how, he knows not. His plans for Midgard are clouded. Midgard itself and the ensuing battle are lost. It's more a puzzle, now, one where half the pieces are missing and most are imagined.

Loki has always liked puzzles.

Frigga visits often. Truth and lies are so embedded into her very being that she has always seemed ethereal and unreal. She smooths his hair and tells him of her day, placing new books in his shaking hands. He tells her stories until he has to stop for a coughing fit that leaves him gasping in smoke thick enough to hide her. She doesn't understand.

He doesn't expect her to.

Thor comes to him, cloak tattered and armour stained in blood. The only lie left about him is the crown he once had within his grasp. Mjöllnir does indeed break the barrier as easily as he predicted. It shimmers weakly at the edges and Loki can _breathe_ for the first time in ages.

"Come, brother," Thor says, a thin mist rising as steam from his lips, "Thanos wars with Midgard and we have need of you."

The name sends a cold fury through his bones and a river down his spine. Loki grins.

"When do we start?"

They start then.

* * *

The Bifröst is smooth against his bare feet; fixed, in all its entirety. He can see where the difference begins. The Observatory is the only place in Asgard untainted by the populace, shining golden in the light without a touch of smoke. It unsettles him. Thor strides ahead, confident that he will not turn around and stab him in the back.

Loki had, briefly, entertained the notion.

Heimdall is the same he has always been, a tall unfaltering reminder of constant truth he will never know. A plain spear rests against the far wall with a pile of daggers at the end of its shaft. Thor brings them to him in silence, turning as he hides the weapons away and clings to the blackened wood like a lifeline. The Gatekeeper scrutinises him, but says nothing.

For that, Loki is grateful.

He stands aside the crowned Prince as Heimdall plunges his sword deep into the mechanism. Swirled colours like pretty lies consume his vision before he can blink.

It takes eight seconds to reach Midgard.

They land in the streets of a familiar city, ravaged buildings collapsed into each other and fires lining the streets in a façade of a true war zone. Anticipation sends a cool prickle across his shoulders and he adjusts his grip on the spear. Thor looks over, face hard.

"Do not disappoint me, Loki."

"Fool." He says, smoke curling round his cheek, and disappears.

The creatures rocketing above the city set his blood on _fire_. He flickers onto the crafts they ride without much trouble and plunges his spear into anything he can reach before moving to the next. His magic sings with the freedom, crackling at his fingertips until the spearhead is flame blue and the machines spark underneath him. It has been far, far too long since Loki has been able to enjoy battle.

He laughs.

His lies surround him like a storm cloud, grasping at his limbs and growing with every whispered myth. The soldiers, for that is what they are in truth, do not learn to avoid him. Instead they swarm, shooting at him with weapons he cannot remember the make of, but only manage to hit each other. Loki fights until there is nothing left to fight, losing his spear in favour of the daggers sometime in the chaos.

And, just like that, the war is over.

_Until it isn't_, he murmurs to himself and frowns when there is no change to the shifting mass around him. A roar too large to be merely mortal and far too close sends him flickering away in fear to the nearest building still standing. He quietly repeats his truths to dissolve the swirls of smoke obscuring his vision. It leaves reluctantly, melding into his bloodied sleeves and stirring the rubble at his feet. Something moves behind him but Loki doesn't bother to acknowledge it, staring out over the city with morbid fascination.

"So we meet again and all that jazz?"

The voice is familiar enough to set off a frustrating blur of _angerannoyancerespect__**fear**_ that leaves him dizzy and unable to respond. Glass shatters in his ears to the heavy, clunking footsteps coming to rest beside him. He glances over briefly to be treated to a walking suit of armour that covers everything instead of only the essentials. The eyes in the helmet are slitted and a glowing yellow that looks far too gold. They wear their lies like a shroud.

Loki has to look away.

"What, am I not pretty enough for you? Well too bad, princess, I learned my lesson last time. Suit stays on." The armour blathers metallically on, losing him farther off topic. He hides his amazement at the sheer amount of words he hasn't heard since he was imprisoned.

"So what'd Daddy Dearest do once the big guy carted you off to Asgard?" Loki doesn't recognise the question, gaze lost in the parting clouds of Thor's storm. The armour nudges his side insistently. "You okay there, Reindeer Games? Pretty quieter than last time."

"Yes." He murmurs, smoke slithering down into his collar.


End file.
